Mardi, and a voyage thither, Vol. 2 (of 2)Melville, Herman
Philosophy
Mardi, and a voyage thither, Vol. 2 (of 2)
Melville, Herman
Adventure stories; Polynesia -- Description and travel -- Fiction
“Oh my lord man—not _you_ my lord Media!—high and mighty Puissance!
great King of Creation!—thou art but the biggest of braggarts! In every
age, thou boastest of thy valorous advances:—flat fools, old dotards,
and numskulls, our sires! All the Past, wasted time! the Present knows
all! right lucky, fellow-beings, we live now! every man an author!
books plenty as men! strike a light in a minute! teeth sold by the
pound! all the elements fetching and carrying! lightning running on
errands! rivers made to order! the ocean a puddle!— But ages back they
boasted like us; and ages to come, forever and ever, they’ll boast.
Ages back they black-balled the past, thought the last day was come; so
wise they were grown. Mardi could not stand long; have to annex one of
the planets; invade the great sun; colonize the moon;—conquerors sighed
for new Mardis; and sages for heaven— having by heart all the primers
here below. Like us, ages back they groaned under their books; made
bonfires of libraries, leaving ashes behind, mid which we reverentially
grope for charred pages, forgetting we are so much wiser than they.—But
amazing times! astounding revelations; preternatural divulgings!—How
now?—more wonderful than all our discoveries is this: that they never
were discovered before. So simple, no doubt our ancestors overlooked
them; intent on deeper things—the deep things of the soul. All we
discover has been with us since the sun began to roll; and much we
discover, is not worth the discovering. We are children, climbing trees
after birds’ nests, and making a great shout, whether we find eggs in
them or no. But where are our wings, which our fore-fathers surely had
not? Tell us, ye sages! something worth an archangel’s learning;
discover, ye discoverers, something new. Fools, fools! Mardi’s not
changed: the sun yet rises in its old place in the East; all things go
on in the same old way; we cut our eye-teeth just as late as they did,
three thousand years ago.”
“Your pardon,” said Mohi, “for beshrew me, they are not yet all cut. At
threescore and ten, here have I a new tooth coming now.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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